Over the Rainbow
by lovettetherainboweater
Summary: "Three things Lovino currently hates: rain, moving vans, obnoxious younger brothers." It's called being a teenager, Lovi. It happens to the best of us.
1. Somehwere

Three things Lovino currently hates: rain, moving vans, obnoxious younger brothers. All he really wants right now is a nice warm cup of coffee, a good paperback and some well deserved silence. Very rarely does Lovino get what he wants.

"Lovi, look at the buildings. Is that Victorian style?"

"Tudor," Lovino mumbles in correction.

He rubs his temples, a headache burning in the back of his eyes and a longing for his worn copy of Wuthering Heights sunk deep into his stomach. Leaning his forehead against the clammy window, Lovino lets out a breathy sigh, enjoying the way it fogs the glass and obscures the bounty of filthy vehicles from view.

The raindrops shatter like crystal bullets against the asphalt, piling into sordid grey puddles at the curbs. Lovino silently curses out the stupidity of the lone pedestrian across the street, coatless and without an umbrella.

Grandpa is humming along with the static littered radio to some trash top-forty pop hit and Veneziano is very nearly shaking with anticipation for their arrival. The U-haul growls in protest at the sharp left Grandpa makes. Lovino had always assumed that when he left behind Chicago it would be on the wings of new beginnings,. It would be with a nice new car (modest, practical, only to get him where he was going and to be ditched for something more flashy, more _Lovino_ later); he would have his home library loaded in the back seat, the radio tuned to a classical station, maybe even npr if he was up to it. He would be happy. He would be ready. But very rarely did Lovino get what he wanted.

Another sharp turn, hard enough to knock the wind out of poor little Lovi when he slams into the the ridiculously sturdy door ("God, what is this door made of, _lead_?")

"Almost there, boys!" Grandpa chirps. Veneziano lets out an excited whoop.

"_Great_." Lovino breathes. He feels that distinct dropping sensation, something like jumping off a cliff, being pushed off a building. He tries to ignore it.

He misses his little apartment. Sure, it had crappy heating and bad water pressure. Of course Mrs. Downstairs had that little mangy poodle that couldn't shut its trap. Yes, that was where his mother died. But it was his home, and he needs a home right now.

Lovino doesn't notice they have arrived until the Grandpa rips the key from the ignition and bursts out of the van with a cheer. "Finally!"

Veneziano is on his heels as he stumbles out, leaving Lovino alone, his hand hesitating on the clasp of his seatbelt. It's absolutely pouring now, but Grandpa and Vene hardly seem to care as they stretch themselves out and compliment the other on making the tedious pilgrimage without exploding from their agreed boredom.

Lovino closes his eyes, breathing, going through a mental checklist of all the things that will be different. He will be good. He will talk more, see more people. He will not run to Bella whenever he has a problem. He will stop crying, stop trying to live in the past. He will sleep less, exercise more, learn something new each day. Things will be different. They really will be this time.

He unbuckles himself and hops out. Grandpa and Veneziano are already gone, probably exploring their new residence, so Lovino waits for a while more, taking in his surroundings and admiring the building. It's a nice place, sturdy, comely; a rowhouse with communal washrooms and laundry. It isn't great, but it's much better than some of the other hell holes Lovino had seen on his way.

The dropping sensation has not gone away and he feels about ready to crumble into a sobbing mess on the cracked drive, but he doesn't. Things are different now. Things will be better and he will be better. He knows it.

Three thing Antonio is in the midst of loving: The weatherman who's saying tomorrow will be all golden sunshine and wonderfulness, the smell of churros in the oven, the way that boy standing in his driveway looks ready to cry, but cracks a smile instead.

**AN: Wow, if you made it to the end of this hot mess, cheers to you. Super short, kinda angsty, maybe a little ooc. This will be multichapter and probably Spamano-centric. So, because I know hearing that a story is the authors first can be a bit of a turn off, I'm putting that little tidbit at the very end. First story, a little hectic, but hope you love it.**


	2. Answers

It wasn't a sudden thing, as most people would have you believe. Antonio falling in love was like the inevitable end of a collapsing domino chain. It was a snowball shift. Someone flipped a switch or flicked that first domino and the gravity took a u-turn and the sun was no longer the center of Antonio's universe but _he_ was. That domino-switch-snowballing-affection just happened to come in the form of a washing machine fiasco and the numerous apologies that followed.

"It was a nightmare," Antonio gripes to his friends, "A complete disaster."

The other two thirds of the click, dubbed the Bad Touch Trio by the majority of their peers, nodded solemnly in understanding. Since his arrival, the mysterious Boy Next Door had been a frequent topic of conversation. Antonio's friends had been subjected to his constant gushing over his new object of interest for a solid three days.

"Do you even know his name?" Francis, resident lecher and frequenter of the girls locker-room, had asked Antonio the day he had introduced the idea of the beautiful stranger to them.

"Names don't matter," snapped Gilbert, "Do whatcha feel, Anton. Romeo and Juliet this bitch, Mr. Montague."

Now, two days later, the trio is sitting around their lunch table, attempting to give some solace to the distraught Antonio.

"What happened, _mon ami_?" wonders Francis.

Antonio frowns dejectedly at his half eaten hotdog, "He was there, washing his clothes. I was there too, y'know, washing clothes, and everything was going fine and it was all good and I was going to ask him how his day was but..."

The others look to him expectantly. Antonio pushes away his styrofoam lunch tray, looking disgusted by the simple thought of eating. "But things happen."

~break~

"I'm sorry!"

"Shut up!"

Antonio skitters after the Boy Next Door as he marches off, a dangerous look glinting in his eyes. They're still gorgeous, though.

"But I'm sorry!"

Lovino does an about face turn, sticking an accusatory finger in Antonio's face. "Because of your fucking screw up," he begins, "I had to spend the next hour scrubbing the detergent from my hair. How do you even drop the _entire_ box in without noticing? How did you get the entire thing to _explode_ like that?""

Antonio somehow manages to push the image of his beautiful neighbor scrubbing himself down and all the fabulous things that implies to apologize one more time.

"Did you know the hot water in the washroom is all gone by five pm? I had to shower in glacial conditions. I was about to die of frost bite."

Antonio scrapes the heel of his boot over the cement walkway, hand shoved deep into his pockets. "I really am sorry..."

The receiver of said apology rolls his eyes with a snort, "Whatever." He starts to walk again, less anger in his stride and more natural swagger, "Dumbass," he adds, almost like an afterthought. And that seems enough like forgivness for Antonio to continue chasing after him.

He has to jog a bit to catch up, but when he does, he can't help the fountain of questions that comes spewing from his mouth like a broken faucet of bizarre interest: "So where are you from? Why did you move? Was it the weather? - I bet it was the weather. Do you like the sunshine that much? I love sunny days. But is that enough to make you move? I guess it might be, right? But was it something else?"

The beautiful boy seems taken aback by the sudden bombardment. "What?" he says, one primped eyebrow cocked in wonderment at the rapidfire interrogation.

Antonio takes a breath, calms his unnaturally fast pulse and manages a smile he hopes is nonchalant seeming, but understands it'll probably just turn out goofy. "So... what's your name?"

A beat of silence, then, wonder of wonders, Boy Next Door smiles. And _giggles_. New Neighbor is absolutely _giggling_ and Antonio swears it is the most magical thing he has ever heard in his entire life. He feels warm all through his body. Bubbles and butterflies warm, like a day on the hot sand, like a tight embrace in the winter.

"Lovino Vargas," he answers, and Antonio feels the warmth all over again.

"Antonio," he responds.

~break~

"His name is Lovino."

Francis nods his approval, "Progress."

~break~

"So, where are you from?" Antonio asks as he continues following Lovino.

"Chicago," he returns without looking back, "Sorta."

"Sorta?" Antonio prods.

"Not so much recently."

A dry silence follows. It doesn't seem quite right to pry any deeper, so the interrogator throws out another itchy question, "Are you enrolled in school?"

"Home-schooled for now," Lovino answers without a hint of embarrassment. Antonio finds this strangely endearing. "Me and my little brother."

Antonio grins, "So you're a big brother," he coos.

"What's it to you?" but it's not a malicious retort.

~break~

"He's a brother," he says, spearing a wilting green bean.

~break~

"Where are we going?" Antonio finally wonders.

Lovino shrugs like it doesn't even matter. "Who knows?"

And that seems like the best answer in the world right now.

They walk up the dirty bike path leading to the lake, talking about arbitrary things; Antonio's stupid friends and all their mischief ("You keep those fuckers away from me, y'hear."), Lovino talks about books with metaphorical titles that Antonio's never heard of, they talk about how they can't wait 'till the rain clears, how unpacking is a pain and being settled in is as well.

They stop in a little gas station store, browsing the dusty foodstuffs and annoying the clerk at the counter to no end. It is there that Antonio learns his favorite Lovino fact so far. He watches him, engrossed as he tries to bite back a smile pulling at his lips when the music starts echoing through the near-empty store.

"Do you like this song, Lovi?"

"-No" he answers too quickly, "And don't call me Lovi."

"It's okay, you don't have to be embarrassed Lovi~" Antonio croons back.

"I'm not embarrassed, dammit!" he snaps, "And don't call me Lovi."

Antonio pokes him teasingly in the cheek. God his skin is so perfect.

"I like this song too," he says, grinning at Lovino's sheepish blush, "In fact, I think it might be my favorite."

"It's a dumb song..."

"It is."

"I'm not supposed to like dumb songs."

"We all like dumb things. It's a part of life."

And he is smiling that beautiful smile Antonio is growing to absolutely adore.

~break~

"His favorite song is _Jessie's Girl_"

**AN: Don't worry, Lovi. I like that song as well :3 I dunno. It kinda seems like one of those dorky songs one might be afraid to like, maybe it's just me... I really hope the time jumps aren't too hard to understand, and if they are I'm sorry .**


	3. Jokes

Lovino had to leave most of his personal affects back in Chicago. It wasn't as hard to leave his things behind as he expected; he, afterall, still had every ingredient for peaceful survival. He had clothes (albeit the terribly unstylish ones that were purchased at a Salvation Army on the drive down), a kitchen full of food and Veneziano for loud but not unwanted company. The hardest thing to let go of was probably his book collection.

"There's just too much," Grandpa had told them as they crammed into cardboard boxes only the things they loved most. It was a bit like packing away themselves, pulling out the objects at their naked core, peeling away the onion of a person's livelihood layer by layer. "You can take three- that's it."

It was the desert island game of horror. Lovino, after puzzling through the predicament for a good half an hour, did what he always did in times of disaster: he called Bella. Bella, in turn, told him that she knew nothing about books, so Lovino made her stay on the line while he mumbled to himself about which ones he couldn't live without.

In the end, he decided on a worn copy of _To kill a Mockingbird_ with half of the soft paper cover torn off, a heavily annotated _A Tale of Two Cities,_ and a book of fairytales he's had since he was a baby.

Only having three books with him was enough to tear Lovino down. It was like fasting- it was the equivalent of being starved. The thought of cracking open a new paperback was enough to make his mouth water, and after two weeks of withdrawal from the world of literature, Lovino finally snapped. Something had to be done.

~break~

There wasn't a library in the village. Lovino had made this wrenching discovery on his second day here. A little detective work uncovered that the nearest one was in the next town over. It was a thirty mile trip, which wouldn't be such feat if done by car. But he doesn't have a car.

So at precisely Six am on a Sunday morning, Lovino slips on his mud caked sneakers, arms himself with a half empty bottle of Gatorade and a granola bar, and sets out on his journey. He's barely out the door before he's already faced with his first obstacle. Antonio smiles and waves as he jogs up the driveway to Lovino. He's covered in a thin sheen of sweat; was he out running?

"Hey," he chimes.

Lovino mumbles a greeting in response. It's way too early for contact with another human. Unfortunately, Antonio doesn't understand the concept of a slow riser.

"How are you, Lovi?"

"...okay," he grits out. He's about to add something mean, but in his morning delirium he can't seem to place an insult.

"Where are you off to so early?" wonders Antonio. He wipes his forehead with the bottom of his tee shirt, exposing a large slice of tanned skin. Lovino wants to take a moment to admire the sight- but no, he's on a mission, and he does not think this stupid bastard is attractive. Not even a little bit. No.

"Places."

Antonio grins, "Difficult, Lovi, so difficult."

"Shut your fucking face."

"I'm wounded."

"Good."

"So where _are_ you going?"

Lovino hesitates. He considers lying, but what good would that do, in the end. "The library."

Antonio thinks for a moment, "We don't have a library here."

Lovino nods. Antonio meets him with a look of exasperation, "Don't tell me you're going to walk all the way to Littleton. That's at least twenty miles away!"

"Thirty," Lovino grumbles back. It's still too early for this. "and _yes_, I am walking, for your information." He folds his arms over his chest to show finality on the subject and Antonio holds back a chuckle. How is it possible for one grumpy boy to be so frickin' _cute_?

"Wait here," Antonio says, "I'll be back in a sec." He jogs to his door.

"What are you doing?!" Lovino calls after him. Too fucking early.

Antonio is back next to him, changed from his sweaty running clothes and dangling a set of car keys over his head. "I'm gonna' drive you."

~break~

Antonio's car is a piece of crap. It's a rusty pickup-truck with one long spiderweb crack in the windshield and a radio that's stuck on one station (A classic rock one. Sometimes the soundtracks are _moderately _acceptable). "It's was like this when I got it," Antonio claimed, seeing the look of horror on Lovino's face at the sight of old _Mabel_, as the car has been named. Lovino has some other theories for the disgusting state of the vehicle.

He rolls his eyes, "Yeah, _sure_."

Antonio ignores him, "So you like books?"

Lovino is a bit startled by the question; he's never had to consider that before. 'Like' seems too underwhelming a word for what he feels for books. It's more like 'dependency', or 'addiction'. He wonders how to answer. Antonio looks to his passenger when he doesn't answer. "Lovi?"

To Antonio's surprise, he smiles. "Yeah," Lovino says, "I guess I do."

~break~

Antonio snaps his cell phone shut. "They'll be here in about an hour," he tells Lovino.

"An hour? A whole fucking hour?"

Antonio shrugs and hoists himself up onto the the hood of his broken ride. "We're kind of in the middle of Nowhere."

Lovino slaps a hand over his face, "Fuck shit. Oh my god. What is this. I just wanted to go to the library. IS THAT SO MUCH TO ASK FOR?"

Antonio smiles apologetically, "Sorry."

Lovino sighs. "I should just walk, I mean, we're only like, what ten miles away?" He looks to Antonio, who sighs as well, just a quick exhale, almost unnoticeable, but it startles Lovino a bit.

"Yeah," says Antonio, "We almost made it..." _He _almost made it. Antonio had had the perfect chance to come to Lovino's rescue, make up for the whole washing machine fiasco, but instead Mabel had to quit on him and now he looks like an even bigger screw up than before. "God must not want things to work out."

"Maybe he just hate passionate readers."

_Or **other** things_, thinks Antonio, but he swallows that thought and says something else, "You believe in God?" - and instantly regrets it. That particular phrase seemed like the worst possible thing to say, worse than any dead baby joke or perverted ground he could have covered. It was a question for a long stormy night, a time of existential exploration, of deep mucky thoughts, not for waiting on a tow-truck. Lovino, though, doesn't seem to notice the absurdity of the inquiry.

"I dunno'," he responds, "I think I used to. Maybe my belief go lost somewhere along the way."

"Ever going to find it again?"

"Maybe. Probably," He says, then rethinks it, "Eventually," he settles on.

~break~

"How much longer?"

Antonio checks his watch, "Forty minutes."

"_Great_."

"Wanna hear a knock knock joke?"

"Not really."

~break~

"Time check?"

Antonio looks at his watch, "Twenty minutes."

Lovino groans from his spot on the rusted hood. Antonio grins.

"...So what is this knock knock joke of yours, anyway?"

"um, let me think," Antonio says, a bit astonished.

"You didn't even have one."

"I so totally did! Oh, got it! You have to start, though."

"... Knock knock."

"Who's there?"

Lovino thinks for a minute, then can't help the smile that settles on his face. "That is so lame."

"Lame, or hilarious?"

"Lame."

"Fair enough."

Lovino scoots almost imperceptibly closer. A micron, a grain of salt more near, but to Antonio, it still felt like the moon has come down and the tides are going nuts and the world is falling to pieces, but it all feels so good.

"So..." Lovino begins, "Got any other ones?"

And Antonio smiles, because, yes, he does.

**AN: That joke really is lame... Anyway, long time no see :D so I've been super busy lately, out at five am and not back to my humble abode till nine pm (crazy, right?). Today was my first day off in a while. Probably not gonna update until at least next Wednesday. I hope this suffices for now. As always, I apologize for any sour grammar or ooc-ness, but thanks for reading!**


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